


Nine hundred and eighty three fifty

by avengingdoctorwolf



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluffety fluffety fluff fluff porn, IKEA, M/M, Semi-porn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 07:03:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avengingdoctorwolf/pseuds/avengingdoctorwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The time that Derek used an unholy amount of pop culture references, Stiles nearly popped several impromptu furniture related boners and in the end they went home fruitless. </p><p>Also known as: the time one broody alpha and one haphazard twenty-something year old went to IKEA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically written because I had this little idea floating and because Cdub23 and pandacakes17 from Wattpad requested I finish it! 
> 
> (do you guys even IKEA in America?? i'm not so sure...google it!)

"Get in loser, we’re going shopping." The words didn’t fit on Derek’s forever brooding face, a sullen expression that Stiles was oh so used to. It didn’t bother him much though, because when he made Derek smile, he knew it was legitimate - and that was fucking awesome. His smile was made from three angels, delicately crafted with marshmallows and rainb- woah okay, too far. Jesus Christ and lord above...moving swiftly onwards. 

"You’re opening with a mean girls quote? O-kaaaay…well that’s just, wow, oh-oh-okay. I didn't even know you'd watched that film. Well I know you've watched it cos' we watched it together that time but I didn't think we got that far in before...heh." He scritched at the bare expanse of skin behind his ear and looked a tad sheepish. Stiles wasn’t a professional wordsmith at the best of times, but the glint of something-a-bit-suspicious-but-also-maybe-werewolfy in Derek’s eyes forced real words down his throat, where they seemed to pool and tug at his stomach. He was allowed to feel these things for his boyfriend right? His long term boyfriend? Whenever he wanted? Especially when they were alone right? Especially when they were outside, at ungodly hours, alone, in the snow, alone, with Derek’s car, alone...alone.

Derek looked at him, unimpressed.

"That wasn’t a joke you moron, get in the car Stiles. I hope you're free all day." Derek’s voice turned slightly...sultry towards the end of his sentence. Stiles gulped. He slipped into the sleek black (arrogant) Camaro and looked hesitantly at the beautiful man sat across from him. Reaching out and putting a hand on Derek’s thigh for stability, Stiles leaned in as if to kiss him, but immediately darted round Derek’s pre-puckered lips to his ear.

"Where are you taking me ye of many surprises?" Stiles mustered the most seductive voice he could. That’ll teach him to call Stiles a moron.

"Oh Stiles". Derek whispered provocatively making Stiles gulp, audibly. "Somewhere with many surfaces, toys and a few bedrooms." The two men locked eyes and Stiles’ thought train took a sharp turn left. He was too busy fantasising to notice Derek's deadpan face. All aboard the 10am express to Sexville. Choo motherfucking choo! This was great; he’d been dying to get Derek on a hard surface and finally dominate him. Every time they ended up between the sheets, Derek asserted his alpha authority and pack position over Stiles, which almost always (always) lead to Stiles being bent over. Not with much complaint though because duh, it’s Derek and he’s one fine hunk of man with a body to die for, a face to rival Gods and an extremely finesse talent in sexual explo- snapping back hastily to reality, he realised the grin on Derek’s face. Shit.

"Ur, what?" he demanded, pretty sure Derek could smell the arousal spreading through him like wild fire.

"You do know that your brain and mouth has no filter in between right?" Derek queried, his mouth curling slightly with the faintest tint of a smile. Stiles’ eyebrows raised about two inches and his jaw fell slack. Crimson coursed through his checks and set his blatant embarrassment aflame much to Derek’s amusement.

"I just said all that out loud." It seemed like a question but Stiles most definitely didn't want a reply, he was just...stating facts. Stating embarrassing facts. Slightly jilted and with a ‘humph’ of defeat when Derek didn’t jump his bones immediately, Stiles just made up Derek's response in his head. Derek spreading him out across the back seat (or the bonnet, Stiles was no lady) of the Camaro and going to town on his currently pulsating dick. Which could obviously turn into car sex, and he could punish him for having such vulgar thoughts…although spanking him in a Camaro might be pretty difficult given the lack of space so famously known for Chevy’s. The damn American designers clearly didn’t think about car sex whilst planning, idiots.

"Stiles!" Derek yelled with a touch of red coming out of his eyes. Normally this would terrify Stiles to the core but since his wolfy boyfriend is his wolfy boyfriend, he trusts that Derek just uses it as an intimidation tactic, that works, fucking cheat. "Stiles, we’re going to Ikea for gods sake, no need to shove your teenage…emotions into overdrive. I mean unless you get a total hard on for Swedish furniture." Derek deadpanned him (again) causing Stiles to flicker his eyes to the dashboard, attempting to escape his glare. Sour-asshole-wolf.

"Actually," Stiles pipes up matter-of-factly, "I am a twenty year old male, I get boners all the damn time and I didn't even get chance to jerk o-IKEA?! You said somewhere with…with…oh you bastard, you did this on purpose didn’t you?" Stiles elbows at Derek’s ribs and deflates back in his seat again. This time he didn't let his mind wander.

"Stiles, come on I was only joking, but seriously we've got to hit the freeway before there's loads of traffic. Put your seatbelt on." he commands. Except Stiles doesn't move he just stares (fucking heroically he might add since Derek was probably beginning 'puppy eyes phase one') at his house to the right of his car window. 

"Oh my good god, Stiles put your seatbelt on or so help me I'm going to throw your little perky ass out of my car with my own fucking claws..." No response. "Oh je- please? Stiles would you please put your seatbelt on?" 

Stiles aims a shit eating grin in Derek's vicinity, unsure if it's directly at him because his eyes are shit with the grin and then buckles up as told. He might not like taking direction from Derek but it’s so much easier to piss him off and poke all his furry werewolf buttons until he begs. 

Stiles has to physically brace himself for the four hour car ride as he picks some of the most uncomfortable positions he can, giving him the excuse to fidget later when his Adderall wears off. So settling in for the uncomfortable long haul, he toes his sneakers off, sets one foot under his ass on the seat and lets the other stretch as far as it'll go into the cramped leg room. He immediately starts to think back to all the planning he and Derek did for this trip and how he could totally not expect it, even at ridiculous o'clock on a Saturday. 

They can pick out curtains together, and pillows, and throws! Maybe even a large shag pile rug for underneath the new coffee table they’re going to buy. Stiles would like to think that Derek would argue with him on colour schemes and they’d be the cute couple in the corner who can’t decide whether mocha or chocolate brown looks better on the feature wall. The old Hale House is being renovated by the pair, a team that works wonderfully together. Derek’s the treasurer and Stiles is the much underpaid interior designer. First task – the living room.

They had spent a good few hours sat on the cold floor in the house talking over their (Stiles’) plans for the decorating.

***

"The new living room needs to have plenty of space for your pack but also it needs to be modern and inexpensive because Scott and Isaac's last ''fight'' certainly broke an expensive looking lamp or two. Oh and I was toying with the ide-" Stiles had let his tongue run on all the while fiddling with bits of paper and re-ordering his pens for the fourth time.

"Ours." Derek interrupted.

"Pardon me?" Stiles had turned to look at Derek’s face, putting copious strain on his neck due to him being seated in between Derek’s open legs.

"The pack. You said ‘your pack’, the pack is ours." Although his face had been pretty stoic all night thanks to him probably still being able to smell Isaac and Scott's ''fight'', Derek’s eyes began to crinkle when they met Stiles'. Just before his lips broke into a tiny smile, reserved just for his mate. And that's when Stiles knew he meant it and decided he'd throw his all in, making sure his pack would be comfortable in his new den. Lightly kissing the hollow of his Alpha’s throat, Stiles resumed talking into it and had suggested Ikea. 

***

This is how they ended up at 10am on a Saturday morning, holding hands over the centre console and only letting go when Derek had to change gears. Neither of them were particularly phased about JLO's new album blaring through the elaborate speaker system and Stiles didn't make any jokes for once, still on a high that they were actually making his plans come to life.


	2. Chapter 2

Four and a half hours, two more Adderall pills, a large portion of curly fries and a strawberry shake to go later and they've finally pulled into a car space at IKEA. The interior looks like a toddlers consumed too many Nerdz and decided to throw up but hey- redecorating is Stiles' forte.

"Hey Der, do you think they'd let me repaint their entire car park? This is a travesty, like it's actually offending my eyes." He said swinging his jean-clad legs out from the bucket seat of the Camaro.

"You're offending my eyes." Derek muttered childishly. 

"Oh wowsa Derek real mature, not like we're hear to furnish our home or anything, ouch are you sure you're ready for that responsibility oh Mr playground insults?" Stiles started throwing his arms around and getting what he liked to call 'bodily verbal' in his enthusiasm for his comeback. 

"So do you actually wanna go and decorate this place or are we gonna stand hear and decorate the decorating shop instead?" Suddenly Derek was a lot closer and his lips were looking invitingly pink after his milkshake. Stiles stretched one arm around his mates waist and placed the other hand at the back of Derek's slightly bedheaded hair, scratching gently like he knows he likes before placing a filthy open-mouthed kiss on Derek's sealed lips. 

"So that's the game play for today hm wolfboy? Cool, sure, whatever, let's go." He said with too much glee for an unreturned kiss. He picked Derek's hand up and intertwined their fingers before searching out the entrance to the shop floor. Derek took the opportunity to lock the Camaro and pocket the keys before finding the rubbish bin on his own agenda and leading Stiles to that depsite his protests. Once their curly fries and milkshake cup was in the bin, he unhooked their hands and stalked past Stiles towards the store entrance giving him a firm slap on the butt as he went. Stiles letting out a very VERY manly squeak, quickly reigned in his thoughts, took a quick moment to appreciate Derek's ass and then caught up to him in some sort of horrendously uncoordinated skip/walk/trott/gallivant/run. 

***

Ten minutes into their expedition and they're lost somewhere in the bedding department armed with a tiny map, floor arrows, a miniscule pencil and a trolley that Stiles is (very) helpfully perched in. They wandered from the main entrance through to the miscellanous department which Stiles concluded they could bypass until the end when they were sure of colour schemes, patterns etc. Turning from his useless map up to Derek, Stiles doubles over in a fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"Oh my-" Stiles wheezes between hyena impersonations, "jesus christ Derek, you're a freaking wolf, and you're freaking lost in IKEA. Oh man this is comedy gold." Stiles can't help contain himself at tall, dark and handsome that only applies if you're into alleged murderers and serial killer looka-likes. Derek's stood with his shoulders down and his chest deflated holding a bright pink "bad girl" bedsheet with various makeup tools over it in one hand and in other he's holding a white, fluffy bed cushion complete with a ''just married'' decal and a trail of heart shaped tassels. Derek goes crimson from head to toe when his eyes catch Stiles' and he immediately ditches the items into an innocent rabbit toy display. 

"Am not lost. Am not a wolf." He forces out the poetic sentences through bared teeth and goes to grab a plain black (go figure) bed sheet set and throws it in the trolley at Stiles' chest.

"Alright sourpuss, don't need to injure anyone do we?" Stiles says placing the sheet set gently in the bottom of the cart. "Oh and c'mon Derek black? You are a walking cliche mon cherie. Can't we have a little alpha red or something? Maybe a little beta blue?" He cajoles with his eyebrows waggling, one hand smoothing over his (Derek's) tightly fitted Henley he'd borrowed a while back and not returned. He was going to give it back but Derek had eventually ended up muttering something about scents and Stiles and home, and so he wore it as often as he could. 

"Stiles, black." Apparently Derek's not using any of the conversational skills Stiles' has taught him subtly over the years they've been together as he's reverted back to his original monosyllabic caveman form. 

"Fine man whatever but I swear to god if this messes up my overall colour plan for the top floor I'm going to skin you alive and wear your skin like a little werewolf coa- coat of paint on the ceiling and the walls and we're done." He beams. Derek cocks his head to the left and manages to lift a single thick eyebrow. Stiles most definitely has not sprouted a second head. In fact Stiles inclines his head to the left as well, still beaming, and Derek sees a little girl stood in between them watching them communicate looking totally bewildered. 

"C'mon Der, grab another four of those bed sets and let's go get Isaac's stuff." Stiles tugs at Derek's free hand, the other stuffed in his pocket, and waves at the little girl still stood clutching the lapels of her pink puffer jacket with her tiny fists. When they're mostly out of the little girls hearing range Stiles leans into Derek's ear and says "I suggest you go and get those bed sheets now, god knows how many we'll ruin" with mock disgust on his face, a smirk threatening the corners of his lips. He'd bet on winding Derek up little by little throughout their trip, or at least that was his game plan, in order to get him back for his traitorous kiss refusal from the car park and to 'horny' him into car sex. What Stiles' didn't bet on is the little girl walking towards them again, with her stiff and now white as a sheet looking mother in tow. Her eyebrows have nearly crawled into her cleary dyed hair line and her slim, boney jaw has nearly hit Stiles in the foot. 

"And now we're letting you buy sheets together hm? I heard your little outburst young man," she waxes, fixing her eyes on Stiles, "that was disgraceful. The next time you men" she spits, accentuating men with hand quotes, "decide to grace this store with your presence, keep it away from my daughter." With that she turns on her heel, scoops up her absolutely entirely confused child and storms away furiously. 

Homophobes don't really bother Stiles anymore, he kinda had enough of that shit at high school to get over it but it really, really, really bothers Derek. Not because he's some alpha male that should be looking masculine and powerful, but because he can smells the underlying upset that Stiles feels when he gets a certain look on the street for holding Derek's hand. Or the way people sometimes refuse to serve him on the outskirts of Beacon Hills because he's ''the sheriff's queer son''. Derek is positively furious and Stiles can see him blatantly trying to quell the feeling to shift, to hurt, to kill and all to protect Stiles. 

Stiles locks eyes with Derek, buries his face into his throat straight away and murmurs soft "it's okay"s into Derek's practically wolfed out face. He grabs one of Derek's free hands in his futile attempt to ground him to the present and feels the tell-tale pin prick of a claw breaking his skin.


End file.
